From Behind the Underneath of His Eyes
by kim-onka
Summary: What does he hide from the others, and what from himself? What does separate him from the world and what to do to help? What does he wait for and whom does he miss? Elaboration on Yuui. Metaphorical. One-shot, no pairings. Please Read, Enjoy and Review.


Disclaimer: I do not own Tsubasa Reservoir Chronicle, it belongs to CLAMP!

Spoiler warning: Well, it's not exactly that this story contains spoilers up to chapter 166 (oh how magic this number is!), it's rather that having read the manga up to this chapter helps a lot to understand this story, in my humble opinion. Though I'd set it somewhere earlier (note: eyes, not eye!).

Please Read, Enjoy and Review, even if you're not a logged member, I'll appreciate that.

* * *

**From Behind the Underneath of His Eyes**

He will smile and wink at you; he will tease you and burst into laughter. He will grin and bow; he will give you a name to call him by and ask for yours. He will be polite and funny; he will be keeping you away and making sure not to step over the boundary he established.

Behind the cheerful façade, there is what he wishes to conceal from you: deaf, blind emptiness he thrust upon himself. He puts all his efforts into supporting the veneer of joy masking  
the blankness of his eyes, not only to fool the people around him, but to fool himself as well. He is trying to make himself believe that the emptiness is everything he has to hide, while  
in fact it's merely further concealment, disguising what he would prefer to keep out of his consciousness.

Usually, he is successful.

Usually, but not in dreams.

And deep within the bareness of his soul, there is always a part of him dreaming his own nightmare.

If you could see him how he is in his dreams, what he shields from the outside world, you would see a little child sitting silently among sharp pieces of shattered glass or ice. Isolated  
by the apparent carefree indifference, he watches everything with his large blue eyes from behind the matt strands of long, tangled hair. Could you look into the underneath of these eyes, you would notice they aren't expressionless; these eyes are filled with mixed shades of pain, guilt, hatred, fear and craving. For despite all the pain his existence might cause, all the guilt that burdens him, all the hatred he feels for himself and all the fear of revealing his secrets, or maybe because of all of them, he craves desperately for someone to come and take him away, and save him.

But he can't leave there. Not without his name and not without his heart. Not until he is set free.

Were you to attempt to come closer to him, be careful, approach gingerly; nonetheless, you won't be able to avoid stepping on one of the icy, jagged splinters. They are everywhere: larger ones near the child, smaller scattered around. Several he clenches in his fist, clutches to his chest, tightly despite the sharp edges cutting his hands. Sometimes he tries to grip  
a few more and draw them to himself. Sometimes he manages; he holds the slivers protectively, the blood from his fingers dripping on them. But still, these are only a few. The rest are out of his reach, lying there as an impassable barrier between the child and whoever would come that far: far enough to hear his unspoken call for help.

When you step on the splinter, it will hurt your foot; and you will hear a gasp of sudden pain merged with your own. If you look up, you will see that the child's skinny face is twisted with a wince. Were your genuine intention to help him, don't try to make your way between the hurting pieces; instead, crouch down and collect them, lifting each delicately until there is none left between you and him. Then walk towards the child, kneel by his side and softly place the slivers on his lap, so that he can touch them and stroke them, and attempt to put them back together into one.

Because these cold, sharp splinters are the pieces of the child's frozen heart. It was turned into ice under a heavy, freezing, immobilizing burden and then it fell, fell down and got shattered, shattered into countless fragments, and he lost any hope he would be able to regain it.

And he can't leave without his heart. Nor without his name. Not until he is set free.

You can call him by the name he gave you, but the child will only look away. Having forfeited his own name, he remains nameless, and if you wanted to save him, you'd need to bring his name back to him. Take the child's hand into yours, say the name gently, quietly; and then hold him while he cries and trembles with sobs. Among his whimpers, you might distinguish  
the name he gave you which isn't his; just cuddle the child closer and call him by the name he wanted to erase, but failed to forget.

For he can't leave without his name, or without his heart. And not until he is set free.

Since the day when his heart got shattered and he forfeited his name, the child has been waiting and missing, and pining for one person. That person is the one he can't ever meet anymore, and he knows that. Still, he waits, always waits, hoping against hope, and he is confident he would sacrifice anything in exchange for a possibility to come together with that person once again, even for a single moment. At the same time, though, he is afraid of this meeting. He fears what he will read in the eyes of the one he has missed and what words may pass between them. But since nothing is worse than uncertainty, he anticipates that moment more than anything.

Because that person is the only person who can set him free. Even if you manage to return his heart and his name, he can't leave until he is liberated by at least one sentence, one look from that person; should it be into death, he would be glad no less.

He doesn't know that the words have already been said: a request, if not a plea.

He doesn't know his waiting and missing is the exact opposite of what these words conveyed.

And as he doesn't know that, he can't leave there. To take the child away, it is not enough to bring him back his heart and his name; the most important thing is to deliver these words, the message from the person whom he misses and waits for, and whom he can't ever meet. Then, he will be able to live.

But that hasn't happened yet. For now, he can only smile and laugh, tease and grin, react to a name which isn't his and keep everyone away, wait and miss. Dream about a nameless child among the pieces of his own broken heart, looking out for a savior.

When he wakes up, he doesn't remember his dreams. He will only glance at you with surprise that you are so far away from him, though at the same time strangely close.

And he will smile for you. Smile so broadly that you won't be able to see his eyes.

* * *

Author's Note: This imagery has been haunting me for quite a while, I only couldn't find the right way to express it. Now I have this, which I find acceptable… Somewhere near the end  
I started to wonder whether they actually did it in at least similar manner. In the manga. I think they kind of did.

Anyway! I hope this makes sense. I almost got lost in this myself, but now I'm leaving it to your interpretation!


End file.
